


2018 Advent Ficlet Challenge

by Ttime42



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Blood, Busking, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Doctor John Watson, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Gen, Holidays, M/M, Minor Injuries, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-05 04:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16803481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ttime42/pseuds/Ttime42
Summary: A collection of  short Christmas stories featuring BBC Sherlock characters.





	1. A Handsome Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> The tags on this work will change as I go and the rating levels will be all over the place. I will probably use multiple prompts per ficlet, thus this will probably have under 24 chapters. Maybe not though. It all depends on how well the words go. Anything is liable to change at any time. Enjoy!
> 
> Prompt #20: Home

"Hey, stranger." John approached the extremely handsome man at the bar. "Can I buy you another?" He nodded at the glass, nearly empty of the amber beer he'd been drinking.

The man turned to him and smiled. His crystal blue-green eyes glanced him up and down. "I suppose." His shoulder went up in a shrug.

John motioned to the bartender. "Another please. Make it two."

John sat down beside the handsome man and took a moment to admire the way the colored fairy lights above the bar glinted off his thick, dark curls.

"Come here often?" John asked.

"Not really." The man paused. "I'm here for work, actually."

"Mm, interesting job that lets you go to pubs and drink."

"Yes, well, in my line of work I am my own master." He threw a flirty look to John across his shoulder and John hummed, delighted. The man smiled and picked up a fresh glass of ale that was placed before them.

"An interesting job for an interesting fellow. What do you say we get out of here, go back to mine? You can tell me more about your interesting work and I'll make you feel good." John sipped his pint.

"How far is yours? Mine might be closer."

John hid a giggle. This was getting ridiculous. "Baker Street."

"No shit. Me too." The handsome man with the dark curls took a deep gulp of his beer. John did the same. He was going to pay for these, after all. May as well bloody finish them.

"Fancy that." John said, trying harder now not to laugh. "We're neighbors. So about going back to mine…"

"I would, but see, I'm married." Sherlock held up his left hand. The silver ring caught the light.

"Let's not let that stop us, I am too." John showed off his own ring and slipped his fingers in between the handsome man's. He let his voice drop to a whisper and he leaned in to the man's ear. "I don't think my husband will mind." John smiled when the handsome man with the lovely hair swallowed and shivered. He shook his head.

"My husband is the jealous type. He wouldn't be pleased if he found out."

"Not _that_ jealous." John muttered.

"Yes, yes he is." His dark curls bounced as he nodded. "Like that time last week when the bloke in the park looked at me and you pulled me really close against you?"

"I was cold!" John shrugged.

"Or that new waiter at Angelo's?"

"He was being so blatant!" John said, defensive. "He was undressing you with his eyes and if anyone's going to be doing any undressing of you it's going to be me. No one else."

"Spoken like a true not-jealous husband."

John scowled at him and Sherlock grinned and finished the rest of his pint.

"Come on." John finished his too and put some money down. "Let's go home."

"Yours or mine?"

"Arse." John said fondly. They stood and wrapped their arms around each other's back. The snow was falling softly outside and their footsteps crunched on the pavement as they walked back to Baker Street.


	2. Christmas Traditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John invites Sherlock to enjoy one of his seasonal traditions: watching a movie.  
> Prompt: Christmas Traditions

John was sitting on the sofa, a glass of cold eggnog in his hand, a favorite old Christmas jumper keeping him warm. He laughed at the television when hapless buffoon Clark Griswold realized he'd forgotten to bring a saw into the woods to cut down the family tree. His and Sherlock's own little Christmas tree was in front of the window on a small table they'd dragged out from behind Sherlock's chair. Mrs. Hudson had a merry time decorating the little plastic tree with John. They'd had to coax Sherlock to hang even one ornament but John had seen him in the evenings, staring at the glowing, sparkling tree while lost in thought. John was sure he enjoyed it, even if he pretended not to.

"What are you watching?" Sherlock muttered from the kitchen. "That's the fourth time you've laughed since turning on that silly thing." He dripped a pipette full of purple liquid onto a glass slide. Sherlock had heard the opening credits of the film, the jingling bells and word "Christmas" repeated over and over. He was hardly a fan of John's type of films, much less sappy holiday ones.

"Christmas Vacation." John said, finishing his eggnog. "You know, Clark tries to have the perfect Christmas and fails at every turn." He watched the movie every season. He and Harry could quote entire chunks of it back and forth to each other.

Sherlock was silent and John raised his brows. "Tell me you've seen it."

"Alright, I've seen it."

"Have you though?" John put his empty glass on the table and leaned forward to see him in the kitchen. "Really?"

"John, you know such drivel tires me."

John pointed at the screen. "This is funny though. You might even like it."

Sherlock didn't move and John sank back into the cushions, watching Clark fiddle with the decorations for the house.

The chair scraped the floor in the kitchen and Sherlock, decked out in his usual loafing-around-the-flat attire of pajamas and dressing gown, appeared in the room and stared at the screen, brow furrowed as if identifying clues on a case. John rolled his eyes. "C'mere and sit." He patted the sofa cushion. "Grab the blanket and let's cuddle."

Sherlock obeyed, picking a folded blanket up by the corner and dragging it to the sofa. He curled up, leaning into John's side. They arranged the thick sherpa throw over themselves and John put his arm around Sherlock's shoulders. They watched the various bickering family members and minor disasters and by the time cousin Eddie showed up, Sherlock had snickered three times and nuzzled into John's neck twice.

"Want tea?" He mumbled.

"Please." John said. Sherlock peeled himself out of the warmth and disappeared back into the kitchen. John was certain he'd stay there, tired of the movie and drawn by another experiment, but he returned bearing two big mugs of tea. "What do you think of the film? Cheers." John took an offered mug.

"It's tolerable."

"It's okay to say you like it." John blew across the tea's surface. "It won't hurt."

Sherlock shrugged. "The experiment was boring and this is as good an alternative as any." He stuffed himself back under the blanket and they leaned into each other to enjoy the rest of the film.


	3. Christmas Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Christmas Party

"Sherlock, come on. We're going to be late." John called down the corridor to their bedroom. The door was half open and John could hear Sherlock rustling around.

"I don’t want to go." Sherlock said.

"You said you'd go." John suppressed an eye roll. Lestrade had invited them to the Yard's annual Christmas party. This year they'd rented out a room in a vaguely upscale pub. John was wearing navy jeans and a red button up. Their coats were draped over his forearm.

Sherlock growled in frustration and appeared moments later in a dark suit with a crisp forest green shirt underneath.

"You look nice." John handed him his coat. "Shall we?"

Sherlock snatched it and yanked it up around his shoulders, muttering to himself as he stomped down the stairs.

"Yep, this'll be fun." John shut the light off and closed the door behind.

* * *

There were a load of people already there by the time they arrived. They checked their coats and John lead the way to the back where the large rooms were. He recognized a couple people at the bar as they walked past, including Donovan. She waved and John waved back.

"John! Sherlock! Glad you could make it." Lestrade greeted them and pointed out the food and toilets before he got called away.

"Now what?" Sherlock asked.

"Mingle. Get some food."

Sherlock bit back a complaint. John's jaw was getting tense, a sure sign that he was growing annoyed. Sherlock left him alone and went to the food table. He took some tiramisu and eyed the room, the women in sparkling dresses and jewelry and the men in suit coats, some in ties. Many wore their badges. Data flooded back and he deduced the people nearest: _three children-two dogs-penicillin allergy-hates pineapple-recent tattoo on the right shoulder-wants to leave his wife but is waiting until after Christmas…_ boring, run of the mill stuff. He finished the tiramisu and scraped the bits of cream and crumbs onto his fork to lick clean.

He binned the paper plate. He was officially bored. He glanced at his phone and saw that only fifteen minutes had passed. Dear Lord.

He left the room and made his way downstairs to where two people‒neither of them Yarders‒were playing billiards. He watched and easily spotted weaknesses and flaws in each player's ability. One player, a loud, gauche fellow, was clearly a regular. People watching knew his name and when he trounced his opponent he got a roll of folded notes. The spectators were betting. The champion laughed and pocketed the cash before calling for other players, other "pussy challengers" he could "totally dominate." Sherlock stepped forward with a smile. The night was getting more interesting. 

* * *

"Where's Sherlock?" Lestrade asked some time later. John, warm and full of food, hadn't noticed the detective slip off. "Could be in the loo." John said. Privately he thought Sherlock might have gone home. At that moment, Dimmock and Sally came back into the room.

"Have you guys seen him?" Dimmock asked them, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

"Who?"

"Sherlock." Sally said. "He's a brill pool player."

John and Lestrade glanced at each other and headed downstairs. A large crowd had gathered around one of billiards tables. John smiled as he caught sight of Sherlock. The detective had taken off his jacket and the tails of his shirt were dangling loose. His sleeves were rolled up his forearms and he had a confident, cocky smirk on his face as he shot the cue ball and knocked an orange-striped ball into a pocket with a smart _clack!_

His opponent didn’t look nearly as confident or cocky. In fact, he looked spitting angry. John watched, smiling, as Sherlock moved around the table and soundly beat the man. Based on the reaction of the audience when he won, this wasn't the first round Sherlock had played. A few notes went to Sherlock and John laughed. Sherlock gave a little bow to the applauding crowd and peered up when John wolf-whistled. His face lit up and he walked over to John, pushing his pool stick at a spectator. "How's the party?" He asked, smug.

"Looks like the real party's down here." Lestrade sipped his beer. Someone asked if Sherlock was going to play again and shook his head. "Boring!" He snapped out. Some people laughed. The loser, dejected, crept off towards the bar as the crowd dispersed.

"Did you win a lot?" John asked.

"Oh God yes." Sherlock grinned.

"Didn't know you could play." Lestrade said.

"It's just physics." Sherlock said, lifting a shoulder in a shrug.

"Right." John said. "Want to head out?"

"Sure. I've given the masses a show, I'm done now."

"He said modestly." John added.

Sherlock giggled and slipped his hand into John's. They said their good-byes and collected their coats and stepped out into the snowy, wet night. John could feel the smug radiating off Sherlock as they walked to the corner to catch a cab.

"Did you have fun?" John asked.

"Of course." Sherlock pulled John close to his side. "I love Christmas parties."

John laughed aloud. "What are you going to do with your millions?"

"Don’t know. Buy Mrs. Hudson a nice Christmas gift. She puts up with all of our nonsense and she should get something good."

John paused, touched. "That's…rather nice actually."

"I can be nice." Sherlock said.

"True. And I'm lucky to married to someone so nice."

They shared a quick kiss before Sherlock hailed a cab. They tumbled into the warmth, giggling as the cabbie drove away.


	4. Music Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Busking

The argument had been simmering for days. Tetchiness on a case, followed by Sherlock stupidly endangering his own life once again, followed by John passive aggressively making himself dinner and not inviting Sherlock to eat, followed by body parts stores in unlabelled containers (something Sherlock knew John hated), eventually lead to a shouting match.

"Label this shite!" John growled. "We've talked about this a thousand times."

"It's on my shelf." Sherlock said, his voice even and steely.

" _This_ isn't!" John pointed at a clear container of tongues next to the butter.

"I didn't put that there. Mrs. Hudson must have moved it."

"Of course." John shut the fridge. "It's her fault. Or it's my fault. It's never yours. You can never just admit you're wrong and fix it and move on."

The argument continued for another ten minutes, with Sherlock snarling that John was emotionally constipated and John yelling about Sherlock's fixation on being right all the time.

"Sod this." John said. "I'm going out."

"Where?" Sherlock said.

John childishly didn't answer. He grabbed his coat, wallet, phone, and keys, and left. The sun was setting and it was cold outside. Dry, hard snow was packed into cracks and corners, dirty and grey. He shivered. A hat would have been a good idea but he wasn't going back up there to get one. He slammed the black door behind and went up the pavement, hands shoved in pockets and mind churning. He walked fast in random directions, burning off his anger, never going too far from the flat, until he came to Regent's Park.

People were going in and out and beyond he could see a little gang of tents and colorful lights. The smell of roasted nuts, pine, and sugar was in the air and he licked his lips. A sign on the gate said "Christkindlmarkt" and John headed inside. As he approached, what was left of his anger dissipated in the warmth of the stalls and vendors. A small bonfire was burning bright and people were walking around with cups of steaming drinks and paper cones of nuts and popcorn. The vendors were selling sparkling ornaments, candles, trees, clocks, and other cheerful bits and bobs. There were carolers and even a guitar player, singing joyful holiday songs.

He bought two cups of cider, intent on bringing one back to Sherlock as a peace offering. He felt a bit badly now, surrounded by all this cheer. He shouldn’t have shouted. He should have just moved the tongues and kept his mouth shut. Sherlock would forgive him though, he was sure.

The sound of a lone violin cut through the air and his ears pricked. He smiled and sipped his cup, heading in the direction of the familiar-sounding violin. Sherlock was standing between two berry-and-pinecone-laden shrubs, a vision in his long coat. The honey red violin was tucked under his chin as he played an embellished version of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." His eyes were closed and his long fingers moved precisely, perfectly, hitting each note and trill. John loved watching him play. He was also glad to see Sherlock had the sense he'd not: he was wearing a beanie‒John's beanie‒and his blue scarf.

The violin case was open at his feet and people dropped coins and notes into it as they passed. A couple families were stopped and John watched the children, staring at Sherlock with enchanted expressions. He finished the piece. There was scattered but enthusiastic applause. Sherlock glanced at John, grinned, and graciously accepted spectator compliments. John approached once everyone had dispersed and Sherlock eyed the cups, brows up in interest.

"Sorry I was a berk." John said. He offered a cup and Sherlock took it, pleased.

"Perfectly fine. I was wrong to have let it escalate so. I apologize." He sipped and hummed in delight.

"Accepted." John said. The cider really was good. "You sounded wonderful."

"Thank you. Fingers are slightly frozen but it went well enough." Sherlock handed John the violin. He gripped the neck, careful not to drop it on the concrete, as Sherlock crouched and picked the money out of the case. He replaced the violin and bow and stood, swinging the case across his back and cradling the hot cup in his cold hands.

"I've recently come in to some spare cash. Dinner?" He offered.

"Sure, yeah." John grinned, relieved that they were back to normal now. It wouldn't be the last argument they ever had but with the joy of Christmas all around them it was hard to be upset about anything.


	5. 'Tis the Season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Star
> 
> The tags have been updated. Bit of gore in this one.

"I can't believe this happened to you." John said. He stood in the doorway of the loo in 221B, staring at Sherlock, who was sitting on the closed toilet. He'd stripped to the waist and was gingerly dabbing at the blood running down his left elbow: courtesy of the most recent case.

Sherlock spared him a glance. "Happens to the best of us."

Despite everything, John laughed. This particular ridiculous case had lead them to a department store crowded with shoppers in the week before Christmas. The perp, wanted for killing two people, was working a till in the holiday seasonal area of the store. Lestrade, Sherlock, and John had shown up and the man had recognized Sherlock in an instant. He ran. They followed. Customers darted out of the way as Sherlock, John and the killer played a sort of 'tag' game around the displayed, decorative trees. John had seen an opening, had pounced on the man. He tried to jump out of the way. Off-balance, the murderer slammed into Sherlock and the three of them went down, taking two trees with them.

Lestrade had wisely stayed back this whole time and he cuffed the man and handed him off to backup officers. John came away from it all with only bumps and bruises. When Sherlock stood up he had a metal star-shaped ornament sticking out of his bicep. Blood drizzled down his suit sleeve. Two customers fainted at the sight of it and the paramedics were summoned. Sherlock refused to linger in the shop, insisting that John would make him right.

Now, an hour later, they were all back in B. Lestrade was in the kitchen on tea duty.

"Stitches?" Sherlock asked. He winced as John eased the star out of his flesh and put it in the sink. The shop manager assured him they didn't want it back and they graciously did not make him pay for it. They even threw in a gift certificate and a basket of fruit and chocolate, so grateful were they that the famous Holmes and Watson duo and graced their place of business and drummed up publicity.

"Mmm. A couple wouldn't be amiss."

Sherlock sighed.

"Sit tight, mate. I'll get my bag and get you squared away."

John left and Greg came into the room with a mug. "Here y'go. I added a little something to chase the pain away." He winked and Sherlock smiled, taking it from. He sniffed the surface, able to smell the alcohol. He took a few sips and sighed. John came back in the room with his medical bag. Greg lingered, watching, as John numbed his arm and slipped three stitches into the skin.

"When was your last tetanus jab?" John asked.

"No idea." Sherlock said. John finished stitching and readied a syringe.

"That was wild." Greg said from the corridor, remembering them all crashing into the trees. "You two are barmy and I love you for it."

John chuckled as he held the vial up to the light and pulled the plunger, filling the shaft with liquid. He squeezed it and bit dribbled out.

"Well, thanks, but I think Sherlock did the heavy lifting on this one."

"Won't be doing any heavy lifting for a while with this." He watched John clean the skin and jab him full of medicine.

"All set. Grab some paracetemol. It's going to ache later." John chucked the bloody tissues away and Sherlock reached for his red dressing gown on the back of the door. He got it on his torso by himself and he tied it, moving slowly. He took up his tea with his good arm and sipped some more.

"You want to keep the ornament?" John stepped out of the bathroom.

"Of course." Sherlock said, affronted. "It's not every case we get a token. Hang it on the tree."

Greg roared with laughter as Sherlock picked up the stained ornament and brought it to the sitting room, to their tree decorated with bright lights, caution tape, little skulls, and perfectly ordinary gold, red, and green spheres. He hung the star on a bare branch.

John tilted his head, looking at it. "If you didn't know it was blood, it would actually look festive."

"'Tis the season to be bloody?" John said.

Sherlock laughed. "Indeed."


	6. Christmas Culture Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on my current WIP. It's an historical AU set in a timeline similar to our own. I thought it might be fun to throw a holiday ficlet (or two. Or three. We'll see how this goes) into that world. In this setting, without giving too much away, Sherlock is a prince and John is a commoner. They meet and become very close. Some countries have different names in this AU. Ireland is called Hibern, for example. England is Britannia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Christmas Culture Shock

It was nearing midnight in the palace. All the servants had gone to bed. John had woken up from one of his nightmares and he and Sherlock were now strolling the corridors, admiring the decorations: sweetly-scented pine branches, red and gold ribbons and shiny baubles sparkled in the faint candlelight.

Sherlock spied some mistletoe tucked above a door and walked over to it with a small "oh!" and planting himself underneath. John watched him, one brow up in confusion. Sherlock curled his fingers, beckoning. Curious, John came closer until he was standing beside the prince. Sherlock reached out and grabbed his lapels to pull him into a breathless kiss.

"Oh!" John sighed when they broke. "What was that for? Not that I'm complaining, mind."

"Look up." Sherlock grinned and John glanced up at the little bundle of greenery dangling above the door.

"What's that?" He asked.

"Mistletoe." Sherlock said. "Extraordinary little plant. Several of my colleagues overseas are experimenting with its restorative properties. The berries and leaves can, possibly, be used to treat a variety of illnesses‒seizures, headaches, dizziness, piles, gout, and the common cold. I'm trying to convince Mike to give it out to his patients but he doesn't trust it. Yet."

"Fascinating." John said. "Why's it hanging above the door?"

"Do you not have mistletoe in Hibern?" Sherlock asked, surprised.

"Oh aye, I've heard of it. We don't hang it about though."

"It's tradition." Sherlock said, slipping his hand into John's. "Hang some mistletoe over a doorway or anywhere overhead really and two people kiss under it." He kissed the back of John's hand. "The Druids started it, claiming that drinking essence of mistletoe would make barren creature fertile again."

"Hmmm." John rubbed his stubbly cheek into Sherlock's neck. "Lovely tradition. Let's hang it all over the palace so I can kiss you everywhere."

"Don't need mistletoe to kiss me all over this palace." Sherlock grinned and they kissed again, quickly. "What holiday traditions do you have in Hibern?" Sherlock realized he had no idea.

"Well, when I was a boy, our mum would always make a batch of porridge for Harry and I to take out to the shed."

Sherlock raised a brow. "And then…? You ate it?"

"Oh no. The porridge was for the gnome that protected our house."

"What?!" Sherlock blurted. He laughed and his deep voice echoed in the silent hallway. "A _gnome_?"

John laughed. "Well, that's the story anyway. Every house has a its own protector."

"To protect you from what?"

"Evil spirits." John said. He shrugged. At Sherlock's skeptical expression he said, "it's not sillier than kissing under a dead plant."

"I suppose not." Sherlock nuzzled into his neck. "What say we go to my rooms and create some new holiday traditions of our own?"

"Oh, I'd be amenable to that, your Highness."

They walked hand-in-hand up the wide corridor, under cheerful, stately decorations to settle in for a long cuddly night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gnome tradition is real. They apparently do it in Norway.


End file.
